


Boiling Point

by NuclearWaste



Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room
Genre: End of game spoilers, Gen, Swearing, let alfendi say fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearWaste/pseuds/NuclearWaste
Summary: A look at the four year gap from Alfendi's perspective. Or, how to claw back to normalcy when a stranger steals your life.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Boiling Point

Alfendi Layton knew that he was still there, but he also knew that he wasn't. It was like sleepwalking. Or maybe it was more apt to compare it to being heavily sedated. Always vaguely away of what's going on, sure, but about to go under at any second.

What really hurt was the fact his actions weren't his own. They weren’t completely foreign either though. It wasn't like he was being controlled by someone else - he never did anything that was completely contrary to himself. He didn't leave the Mystery Room if he could avoid it, didn't refuse homicide cases, didn't talk to anyone he didn't have to. It was still him, but dialed back. No real thought into his actions. A sleepwalker. A heavily sedated, about to pass out version of himself. It was like someone had gotten a hold of a profile of who Alfendi Layton was, but had neglected to nail down his personality. Male, late twenties, genius investigator. Autopilot ran his routine perfectly but there was no emotion behind it, no feeling, no humanity to any of it.

For the better part of four years, he's been numb, brain dead. And no one seemed to care. If he was in the right state of mind, mentally present enough, he would've yelled at Hilda when she left. He would've screamed that he's fucking trying, that he's still here but that he's trapped under a layer of bullet proof glass and clawing at it with his bare hands so yeah, coming back to his senses is a cakewalk. But he couldn't. The sleepwalker knew that this departure was supposed to be sad, that it was supposed to be wrong, but he accepted it easily like dreamers do when their vision shifts - with no reaction, no remorse.

_Ah, Hilda, congratulations on your acceptance to Interpol._

_I don't recall telling you about that._

**_No, and I doubt the Great Pertinax was ever going to. Much too high and mighty for that, right?_ **

_Al?_

_Al?! Are you alright?_

_Yes, sorry about that, don't know what came over me…_

It was much the same when Justin asked for a different partner. Alfendi would've given a biting remark that he was at last going to stop carrying Justin's dead weight. He would've made a snide comment that it wasn't surprising Justin wanted to go back to solving simple mindless drivel, that he was more suited for the task. He would've poked and peeled at the obvious scab until Justin said what was really on his mind, until he saw how much of an imbecile he was being, until he put the transfer papers in the rubbish bin where they belonged. But the sedated captive could not care. Justin was still in the same department after all, just down the hall now - how could that be cause for frustration? And certainly this was a way to give some space the man now wanted. Nevermind what Alfendi thought. It wasn't his choice to make, the captive decided. If Justin avoided the Mystery Room, that was his decision and Alfendi going to his desk and harassing him like some stubborn child would surely not be welcomed.

_Justin, might I bother you a moment? I was looking for the files concerning the Keelan Makepeace case._

_I don't think that's a good idea. Try to forget about the whole thing, Al. You already confessed._

**_I didn't._ **

_Al?!_

**_I didn't do it, Justin! Even someone as simple as you_ ** **_has_ ** **_to know that._ **

_Al, you don't look so good-_

**_I've … I've got to look into that case. There's got to be something that was missed_ ** _._

**_Ugh…_ **

**_Not now…_ **

_Listen, Al, why don't you go home early. You're obviously not feeling well._

_…Yes, I think I will…_

Because that's what this numb version surely thought of him and his volatile emotions: they were unnecessary, unwelcome childish antics. No need to get so flustered and involved. And everyone around him seemed to agree. His other co-workers had only had brief interactions with him, the real him, and were much more interested in this mellow walking corpse. They liked that he didn't speak unless spoken to, and even then, always softly, always polite if not overly apologetic. They didn't hear how monotone it sounded - they called it gentlemanly.

He wasn't so far gone that he took all this lying down. But it was like trying to break the ceiling of a room while the room filled with water. The closer he got to where he needed to be, the more danger he was in, the less he could breathe, and the harder it got to actually accomplish the goal at hand. Trying to fight against sedatives, against drowning, against slipping into oblivion was hard. In order to not get lost in the flatline, he needed to be a spike of adrenaline. He needed to be everything this Alfendi wasn't: loud, passionate, invested - dialed to eleven. 

But with everything slipping out of reach, there wasn't much to be passionate about. Alfendi would be the first to admit that he didn't make connections easily. With his friends gone and his family relations just as strained as he last left them, there wasn't anyone left to care about. Of course there were the victims of the cases, but at the rate he solved them, there was too little time to get invested. The stranger attacked his work like a puzzle - yes, a person would get arrested once it was solved, but the puzzle was solved because that's what you did with puzzles, not because of some sense of justice. Sure, the sleepwalker would claim otherwise, but Alfendi could tell that nothing reached this body snatcher on the same level things reached himself. He intercepted those tendrils of feelings and blocked them out. Meaning new attachments were out of the question and with them their motivating factors. Which was more than a minor annoyance since the few times he'd managed to surface was when he'd been with his friends. Well, old friends, ex friends.

How else to get strong feelings again when the power of friendship fucked off? Enter Detective Constable Lucy Baker, and with her, the answer that had been staring him in the face: anger. The lass had breathed new life into the growing list of grievances that had nearly died.

First of all, there was her mere existence. A new partner, who of course couldn't be called such because of his split with Justin. No, Lucy had to be his  _assistant_ , despite the fact she was doing the work of a partner. If Hilda were in her shoes, the woman would riot, and Alfendi would've cheered her on as she did so. Fuck whatever bullshit the commissioner was on. Lucy earned the right to be here - acknowledge that.

Then came the fact that she was actually smart. Yes, she was more of a go-by-the-gut type girl, but she picked up on a lot more than she consciously realized. A perfect balance between Justin's intuition and Hilda's textbook intelligence. And of course, that was frustrating on two counts. One, that Alfendi's old friendships had crumpled, and two, that he could only enjoy this new partnership from the passenger's seat instead of the driver's.

With the warmth of his anger's blaze, Alfendi was beginning to awaken. Days stopped blurring together. He could recall Lucy's first day perfectly - that kind of clarity hadn't happened in a while, but it was easy to view it in the light of his rage. Just one more spark, one more piece of kindling.

_The results! From forensics! They found nowt on it! No traces of blood whatsoever!_

Crack came the glass as the case fell apart. Things not going as calculated? How  frustrating . 

_Mah what a terrible shame. Your trump card turned out to be a joker in the end. I do declare, I hate it when that happens._

Oh this smug little-! Alfendi could feel the numbness leaving him as his rage simmered. **_I'll wipe that grin clean off, lady._ **All he had to do was figure out what he had missed while sleepwalking...

_Have you got no shame at all? We’re talking about a man’s life!_

He let Lucy’s anger mingle with his own as he thought. A knife-like wound not caused by a knife. Not a trace of the weapon to be found. What pieces hadn’t been quite fit yet? The pot of pasta despite the fact the couple always ordered takeout… the damp little paper folded at odd angles… of course! **_I've_** **_got your number now_**. Hilda always did say he did his best work out of spite.

_How do you have the gall to say summat like that?_

Hello, boiling point.

**_Killing for cash_ **.

The simmering rage kept the headaches at bay for admittedly longer than he had expected. Granted, a five minute interrogation was an absolutely pathetic amount of time to be pleased with, but still. Five minutes, five glorious minutes when he was finally himself, when he was finally in control. If he could break out for this long once, it stood to reason that he could do it again, could improve his time in the waking world until he was finally, **_finally_ ** back to himself. That thought combined with his victory was almost enough to let his frustration sizzle out, almost enough to send Alfendi back under water, almost enough to lose himself in the flatline of numbness. But then-

_Are you back to normal now, Prof? _

He could wait. All he had to do was stay angry and wait, and this past four years had given Alfendi Layton plenty of reason to be angry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I wanted to explore the fact that Alfendi's original personality, according to Justin, hadn't really surfaced until Lucy showed up, and I hope you enjoyed this exploration with me :)


End file.
